


When in Rome

by Ho_Ho_Homicide



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Wings, Clint Barton Has Issues, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Past Child Abuse, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-05 22:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17927990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ho_Ho_Homicide/pseuds/Ho_Ho_Homicide
Summary: Hiding his wings is nearly impossible by now. They're a healthy twenty-three feet total wingspan and only increasing in size. Natasha's right. After this, exercising his back muscles into shape again is going to be painful.Or, where Clint has large wings and emotional trauma to match.





	1. Chaper 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been some back and forth on whether or not to post this but nevertheless, here it is. Kinda an older fic, but hopefully a good one.  
> Wings don't come in until chapter two.

It was actually quite nice out. Despite the hordes of people and the constant shouts of children, it was really a nice vacation spot. 

Another thing Clint could scratch off his bucket list: taking down a HYDRA facility in Rome. Ah, the places you'll go when killings what you know. (He rhymed there, see)

The streets Clint walks now are relatively empty, save for the occasional native. The buildings are mostly colorless from the ruthless sun beating down on them, all dull red and blue now, clothes hanging from every other window, stray cats running around, trash everywhere. It's the bad part of Rome that most don't see, most don't even think to look at twice, but it's there and Rome all the same. It's all dodgy and Clint's hands are itching for his bow but it's not really around at the moment.

Most of the tourists are among the famous land Mark's that make Rome what it is. The Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Roman Forum, and like ten more Clint can't remember the names of.

He acts casual, chewing on some now flavorless gum, hands shoved in his jean pockets. With his sunglasses, he looks like any other tourist, just a little less enthusiastic about seeing oh-so-fabulous Rome. Natasha says that's his weak spot. She doesn't know shit. But honestly, he's seen Rome so many times he'd be more excited to see a coffee machine that materializes coffee in seconds.

As he walks foward, his mind wanders to what color he would order his magic coffee machine in and nearly misses his turn. The distinct rumble of a crowd reaches his ears and he grimaces. It's too early in the morning for this.

< * >

At the top of the marble stairs that are shiny from so much use, there's a large, unusually shaped building that looks something like a church. It has blue windows all over but some are busted out. To the left, brown, worn out tourist attractions offer spots to look over the crowded grounds, even though some of the crowds themselves are inside as well. On the edge of each stair, a beautiful shockingly purple flower blooms in a bush like shape, each one placed in an equally beautiful marble stand.

Natasha blends in flawlessly, no doubt she wouldn't, and sits on the edge of a step, facing away from the white building. She's delicately rearranging her tight dress, balancing a parasol that came from who knows where, on her knee. With her grace and looks, she could easily stand out too much, but she'd thought ahead and was prepared. She stands out just enough, but can't walk around like some common tourist. Clint would tease her for that, but she has a reputation, you know.

Large feet clumsily clump towards her. She pretends to accidentally knock over her parasol into the feet of the passerby. 

People are almost literally everywhere, blending in and out of each other, colors mixing together like a big mish mash of humans. Natasha isn't fond of crowds. It feels like there are too many people in too little a space, not enough room to analyze the people, the surroundings, the exits. Even thought they're outside right now, it still feels too crowded, too stuffy, not enough room to breath.

But she makes do and carries on. Her victim come closer and she pulls her sun hat down, playing with the hem of her dress.

She knows it's not just any random passerby, Natasha Romanoff doesn't do random. It's her carefully selected target. It's a man she knows to be about thirty or younger, with short brown hair and dull blue eyes. He's dressed in nothing special or anything that stands out and that's exactly why he was chosen by both sides. He's here alone currently, but Natasha knows he has a wife, she'd seen a picture of the woman in his wallet when he'd gone to pay for food. His name is Gene Willer and he's managed to stumble into the wrong place at the wrong time and make the wrong decisions.

Just as Natasha predicted (she's never wrong) the man bends down and picks up her parasol. Natasha keeps pretending to be a young, shy girl, duking her head down under her over sized sun hat and blushing a bit. A stray red hair falls in her face from the breeze that comes through.

The man lifts up and hands her the umbrella, dusting it off slightly and handing it to the redhead. Natasha lifts her arm and puts are hand out, tilting her head up to utter a shy thank you.

The man blinks, momentarily stunned by the beauty in front of him, and blushes a bit.

"Uh-" he says, tripping over his own words, forgetting the object in his hands. "Uh, here."

"Thank you." Natasha says again, but louder, a bit of a flirtatious edge to her voice. She lifts her eyes upwards, eyelashes casting shadows onto her cheeks.

The man blushes a darker color, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards. 

Natasha inwardly rolls her eyes. People like this are the underside of your shoe part of the world.

There's an awkward tension in the air before the man decides to gird his loins like a big boy and speak.

"So, uh, you here an vacation?" His voice sounds ever so slightly slurred, like a hangover was there but years of practice manages to keep the edge off. Natasha knows better.

"No, sir." She says, slipping a slight French accent into her voice. French usually worked best, and if that didn't, Russian was next. Generally, nothing works better on a man than a woman with an accent.

The word "sir", seems to have quite the effect on Gene and he perks up a bit, giving Natasha a better view of his entire body. 

There are bags under his eyes, his lips are chapped, and Natasha can smell the faint reek of alchohol under the mint of his gum. Signs of late night drinking. He'd prepared for this trip, as the phamplet sticking out of his bag about Rome with hand written notes suggests, not a spur of the moment thing. There are bruises on his knuckles, barely noticable, barely worth noticing, but to Natasha it is. Either he'd been in a bar fight, which wouldn't be surprising, or he'd been or still was abusing his wife, which wouldn't be surprising either. 

So she's gonna have to play to flirty shy girl he thinks he can have a quick fuck with then go home and keep his quiet little HYDRA base going.

Sometimes she loves her job.

The breeze passes through again and a wonderful fragrant scent wafts around, only helping Natasha in this scheme to seduce. 

Mother Nature does have her favorite children after all.

Natasha continues, "I'm only here to visit my mother, she's been ill lately, but Rome is so beautiful, I had to stop and see the sights." She sighs dreamily, putting her full attention on Gene. "I'm Jamie, by the way." She offers her hand, giving him two options.

Take it, or leave it.

"And you?" She prompts, innocent and curious. 

"I'm here on vacation with my..." he hesitates and Natasha knows every thought running through his head right now. "Sister." He decides. "Yeah, she isn't here, she's back at our rental house, but she's a huge tourist so I'm stuck doing some too. Although... this has been my favorite spot so far." He says, looking Natasha up and down, smiling crooked. He finally takes her still outstretched hand, which he seems to have forgotten. "Gene."

His entire body language is screaming flirt, open and relaxed. Natasha laughs airily and plays with her hair a bit, forcing herself to blush.

"Have you seen the cafe across this way, Gene?" She asks, putting extra emphasis on his name, pointing down the seedy part of town where the buildings have turned black and crumbled. The only action it sees anymore is definitely illegal, though it's too far away to see anything unusual from where they are standing. "It's simply adorable, with all the Roman yummies they offer."

"No, I haven't." This motherfu- sorry, Gene, says, watching Natasha's ass as her steps foward. "Would you like to show me?"

Natasha smiles sweetly. "Of course."

Enter Clint, stage left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short ish chapter this time and doesn't even have Clint's wings.. sorry. Next one will be longer, I promise!

Natasha doesn't let her eyes stray too long, but it's hard. Harder than it should be.

He's wearing a thin gray t-shirt that's too tight for its own good, black jeans, his signature dirty white and purple converse, with a pair of black ray bans. He looks as ease, taking in the scenery but keeping his head down at the same time. The wind ruffles the messy blond hair even messier and Natasha wants very badly to dig her fingers into it, damn it.

Her grits her teeth as Clint casually strolls foward.

Gene, the idiot in front of her, their mission at hand, is grabbing Natasha's elbow, tugging her away from the crowds.

Perfect.

As the two walk away into the dingy section of the city, Natasha risks a glace back. Clint looks directly at her, gives her one sharp nod, and disappears into the crowd, blending perfectly, even after dressing so... attractively. 

Fuck, she needs to stop thinking.

She redirects her attention to Gene, who is now staring at her chest. The urge to smack to fuck right out of this fucker is huge. She resists. 

The air around them grows colder and damper, the pavement beneath their feet is cracked with weeds protruding from it. Old buildings rise in unexpected places, most broken down and crumbling, and the standing ones bound to fall at any moment.

Gene is becoming more suspicious by the second, bless his soul.

"Are you sure this is the right spot?" He asks, one eyebrow raised. 

Natasha gives him a little smile and says, "Oh, no not yet. We have a little bit longer to go. It's quite a hidden gem. "

His thinks about this, but nods slowly and they continue. 

Natasha idly wonders where Clint is, where he will be. She can't help but hope she's in his line of sight when his job comes. Only once it happened before, and my, had it turned out to be interesting. 

The stone path that gradually fading suddenly stops completely, far away from the crowds, and Gene abruptly jumps away from her, finally realizing what's happening.

"You set me up." He says, pointing a finger at her. "You set me up."

Natasha looks suprised. "What?" She asks innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me!" He exclaims. He calls her a few lovely choice words and Natasha decides enough is enough. 

"Fine," she says, sounding bored. "You got me."

Gene, if at all possible, looks even more frightened. He knows an assassin or hitman is possibly the worst thing that could happen to him right now. Well, that's what happens, she supposes. 

"What do you want from me? Money? Drugs? I don't have drugs."

"But you do have money?" Natasha says, just for fun.

Gene, surprisingly, holds his ground

"No, I'm not here for money or drugs." She says. "I'm here for information. So you can drop to act, Sherman."

At the mention of the name Sherman, "Gene's " eyes widen.

"What- how- how do you know that?" He asks, becoming angered. It's another one of those things Natasha knows but really shouldn't. 

"I'll be asking the questions," Natasha says, watching him carefully. 

"And who's gonna stop me? You?" He asks, laughing while a dangerous edge creeps into his voice. He stands up straighter, as if to prove his point. Natasha's face stays passive.

"HYDRA has all the weaponry they need to silence anyone who knows anything. I myself have enough explosives to destroy this entire city."

Natasha lets him talk. The good will come.

"So, tell me, what makes me think anything could stop us? HYDRA is taking control, and fast. SHIELD has fallen to us, the Avengers have split, and a very war is on the verge of breakout. Something has to give, and soon. HYDRA will decide what that will be."

Oh good, he's getting cocky. It's so funny when they do that.

"If only such a pretty face didn't have to be destroyed." He whispers, cupping her chin with his hand. Natasha gently pushes it away, glaring venom at him.

"So, what?" She asks. "Rome first? Then the US? Or maybe China?"

Sherman laughs. "You are good, but not as good as I hoped. What makes you think I'll say, little one?"

Natasha smirks a bit. "You already have." She does a quick mock salute, and Sherman obviously knows the process. She doesn't even hear a sound, before the poor excuse for a human being once in front of her now has a singular arrow through his eye socket, blood pooling below his neck. 

She turns around, and sees Clint struggling to get his foot untangled from a plant.

< * >

Once Sherman is out of the picture, and Natasha makes sure Clint isn't injured as he hops around like crazy, she vanishes. A breeze with the scent of freshly baked bread fills her nostrils as the city returns to sight. It's slightly odd to her, how a life has just been taken from the world, yet othere lives go on, as though nothing happened. It just feels strange to her.

She turns a corner and the purple of burst into sight, the rumble of taking people louder than ever. Scans the crows for the Hawk. He was late. Nothing new, though.

It wasn't all that hard, really, to spot him later, as wherever Clint went, a few giggling female's eyes followed him like Chris Evan's paparazzi at a movie premiere. 

Natasha raises her head, puts back her shoulders, and walks briskly to Clint. Her heels make a satisfying clicking noise under her, hair back, stride confident, catching the small fan group's attention.

She grabs Clint by the arm. His beautiful, toned, amazing arm.

Stop it, she tells herself.

"I thought we are supposed to be undercover? She hisses, poking the sensitive part of the elbow between the bones. 

"I- OW- am!" He replies, pulling his arm back a little. Natasha still has a firm grip on it.

"Then why are you dfesses like you're going into mens Broadway fashion?"

"What?- I guess I though this was good enough." He looks back confused, poor little lamb.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

"Ok, maybe not the best choice but I don't have much else. I really need you to go shopping."

"Later. Give me a report." Natasha insists, walking arm in arm with Clint. Once they both know exactly what happened from the others point of view, they could be over with this mission and finally be home for the first time in months. After Siberia... ugh, she doesn't even want to think about it. 

"You were there for all the interesting part. No one important saw me coming or going, but on the way back I saw a cute dog but it already had a collar, so I brought it home."

"What about the plant?" Natasha asks.

"What plant?" He asks, perfectly even and Natasha has to laugh.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Ah, so you saw that. "

She nods.

He awkwardly scratches the back of his head, a faint embarrased smile appearing.

Natasha smiles one of those rare smiles, one that means something, that means more than somthing. One that is meant only for her heaven and her earth.

She rises up a little onto her tip toes and brushes her lips ever so slightly across Clint's. So light, it's almost a ghost of a kiss. She can feel his breath catch and takes great pleasure in the face she can still do that. Clint hates almost touches. It can't be an almost kiss. It can't be an almost scratch in his hair. It can't be an almost hug. He needs the whole thing.

She loves tormenting him in little ways that show she loves him. It's strange but it works.

She brings her mouth to his ear, whispering very quietly into it. "You know no one saw me, and you saw all that matters, what'd you say we call it in and go home, hmm?"

She can feel Clint's strong hands grab her hips and he pulls her closer, smirking. "I'd love to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for this dreadful update


	3. Chapter 3

Hiding his wings is nearly impossible by now. They're a healthy twenty-three feet total wingspan and still growing. Natasha's right. After this, exercising his back muscles back into shape is going to be fucking painful.

Take takes a sharp corner and bites his lip to take his mind away from the constant cramps in his back. Ducking into the empty alley way Natasha planned, Clint practically rips his shirt off. Instant relief comes as his wings spring into full size, resting against the dust and Clint could practically sing. They brush up against his skin and he loves the feeling.

"AHHHH!" 

Clint whips around as best he can. Behind him, a woman is screaming like she missed an episode of her favorite soap opera. She's dropped her basket of laundry, which falls to the ground. Pairs of socks roll around. She'd emerged from the back door of a building which, in Clint's mind, was abandon. Wrong, wrong, wrong alley way.

Fuck.

"An angel!" She falls to her face, bowing in front of Clint, touching the ground with his nose and yelling about "a sign from Mary!"

Clint can hear movement and voices inside the building she came our of. More people, more noise, more attention.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit now what? He quickly chalks up a few of his options: kill the woman and risk Phil's lecture, stand there like an idiot, or fly away in the middle or a tourist trap.

Number two it is.

Three more people come hurdling out the door, skidding to a stop behind the first woman. Two children, one adult male. A family.

Clint's extremely glad he chose option two.

The children -a older boy and younger girl- stare on in wonder, while the father stares in somthing else. The kids fall on their faces like the mother, bowing and mumbling about the virgin Mary. Clint tries desperately to put his wings back, but prevailed only in fumbling around more. They'd been trapped for too long, no way in hell were they going back.

He relaxes his face muscles and stays in what he hopes is an angel-ish pose, which, in hindsight, probably looked pretty stupid. But dad isnt convinced. He looks Clint right in the eyes, and Clint knows what he's thinking.

"You!" The Roman man suddenly exclaims in the thick accent, horror in his eyes. "You are the archer American from tv!" 

Under normal circumstances, Clint would he flattered to be on TV, but the dad is probably referring from bad, bad times. Times when Clint's reputation wasn't exactly golden, when Loki threw all his hard earned, fought for work in the fucking trash. He crawled from the pits of hell itself to earn himself a spot among the best, to be the best, and Loki set it on fire and watched it burn.

The mom and children scramble to their feet, all back into the house, where the dad stands in the doorway, visibly shaken, deciding if Clint is friend or foe and Clint hates the way the family fears him.

But Clint doesn't wait around to find out what the father chooses. He takes off at a sprint, streaming towards the more and more rural areas, where the walls have fallen into dust and the plants have overtaken. The sun is setting now, turning into liquid gold on the horizon and he knows Natasha is waiting for him.

He has enough room the pick up some speed and fly but that would attract too much attention. But he's running wild right now, wings snapping in the winds, waving like a surrender flag. He left his burner phone in his jacket pocket at the Roman family's fucking doorstep, and curses himself again.

He's lost and he knows it, nothing looks like same on ground as it does on a map. There's a small grove of yellowish trees to his right, and barren field to the left. If the trees provide enough cover, staying there for the night would be risky but his only real option. Beggars and wild dogs prowled the ghost buildings during dark, too easy to be found. If he can make it a night, he knows Natasha will wait for him, despite Coulson's orders. 

Clint's happy he doesn't have to hear about that.

Staying low made for harder travel across the small patch of field, the thick grass pricking his legs and other parts. He's pretty sure his butthole has grass in it now.

As night fell, Clint had made himself a decent bed of grass and tree leaves, covering for his naked torso. Rome grew quiter and although Clint felt safer, his instincts didn't want him to sleep, damn them. He watched the leaves rustle and his eyes slid shut, for the last time peacefully in a long time.

\---------

Clint's mind screams ALERT, and he's jerking up, grabbing and twisting whatever's in front of him.

He immediately regrets it.

It's a small rat.

Or, was. He gags and throws the dead creature aside, wiping his bloodied hands on his pants. Great way to start off a day. Overnight, extra leaves landed on his body, completely covering him in foliage. He's ended up looking like a bush among the trees and he's confident he wasn't found through his sleep.

Glancing at the sun, he guessed it was around eight am, too early for a normal day, but far too late for Natasha to wait. Fucking fuck fuck, he hopes she waited. 

He throws the best he made around the grove, to rid it of the evidence he was ever here, and carefully folds his wings into his skin. It hurts, his wings making known they don't want to go back and this'll bite him in the butt later.

They melt flush into his back, and Clint realizes he's without a shirt. He only has a small wad of cash, and it amounts to about fifty in American dollars. Not near enough. Ah hell, if Natasha didn't wait, he's completely screwed.

And Tony's going to win their bet! Tony bet Clint he couldn't go two mission without disaster and Clint took his odds. Bad odds, but at least they were odds.

He needs to find the baby quinjet (as he calls it. Its actual name is a long stream of numbers he cant ever remember) he and Natasha came in, so he takes off, attempting to pull off the early morning jogger look, but it's really hard to run in jeans, and he keeps getting funny looks, until he remembers he still had blood on his pants from that rat he killed. Ah, what a day.

The landing site comes into view an hour later, and Clint's really out of breath. He's not a huge runner, as much as Steve might like to think. The large circle from the baby quinjet is visible, but no quinjet.

Of course she didn't wait, she's an asshole. And a suck up.

Clint sighs, and just sits down in the grass. He needs a plan. What would Natasha do?

Well, after slapping him, she'd probably go into town and buy some stuff. Food, a shirt, a burner phone, vodka, maybe a pizza. Ok, that's what he'll do. The farmers market is a tourist trap, but Clint knows how to barter them down. I'd it comes down to the worst, he'll pickpocket a few tourists and buy something he knows they'd like. He isnt sure if that makes it better, or worse, but he needs it more than they do.

Now, Clint knows he isnt ugly, maybe even good on the eyes, but the long stares he gets at the farmers market makes him uncomfortable. Teenager, kids, and adults alike ogle him as he shoves by hurriedly. He desperately wishes Natasha was here, she makes everything better, even if she would only tease him relentlessly for this.

The first thing, he purchases a shirt, and puts it on in the men's room. He looks strange, with a thin, plain white shirt and it shows off his arms in a way that both embarrasses him and pleases him. His pants are wearing a large amount of blood, and he does his best to scrape it off. The job it decent enough, and he next buys a pair of sunglasses, hoping he's got enough left for a disposable phone.

The phone company gives him the cheapest model they've got, and Clint debates who's number he should dial. Natasha probably won't pick up simply out of spite, but Phil might answer, and instead of saying hello, just sigh in that disappointed way or his.

He decides on Steve, the good old captain won't let him down.

Except he does. 

Steve doesn't answer and Clint doesn't leave a message. He's only got two uses left, and does not want to get pinged on the wrong radar.

He calls Natasha next, and to his great relief, she answers.

She doesn't say anything, though. 

"Uh, hello? Nat?" Clint says.

Silence.

"Listen, I know you're mad, just please, listen."

He thinks he hears a little sigh but can't be sure. 

He continues. "So after the whole thing, I think I went down the wrong alley and, um, a family saw me and freaked, and I got lost for a bit, but it's ok now, I'm not lost anymore! So, yeah, I just need you to pick me up."

It's quiet for a whole minute and a half, Clint counted, until Natasha answers.

"Are you ok?"

He just smiles goofily. Always the protective one, Natasha is.

"Yeah, 'm fine. My back hurts like hell though."

"Mm. You deserve it. Where are you?"

"Farmers market."

Clint can hear Natasha say somthing to who he assumes is Coulson and cringes. Phil lives speeches about truth and honor ane rousing discussions about freedom. It's obnoxious. 

"Barton, if I get a single complaint about an angel sighting, I swear I'll tell the whole world." Phil tells him though the speaker.

Clint squints at it, blinking in the sun. "As long as I get to tell everyone you're alive."

"Don't threaten me. I've got Romanoff coming up in a few hours, just hang around."

"Will do, sir." Climr never forgets his manners, (ok he does) especially around Phil.

Natasha comes back on, sounding less annoyed than before. "Watch your back. I'll be at the place." She says.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Oh, and I think you're really really going to like this shirt I bought." He comments offhandedly, grinning. 

"I fucking better."

"The priority is to do it the other way around."

He cam almost hear Natasha grin, just like a cat would. "Ohh, now I'm excited. You better get off that phone, be-"

And it's suddenly blurry, everything is, Natasha's words thought the phone fading to background noise. Clint can feel a sharp prick, like a wasp sting, shoot through his shoulder, and he barely has time to think 'fuck' before collapsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why this is so short. Apologies. I just couldn't figure out to end it and now I cant figure out where to start the next chapter. The usual. Anyway, hope you liked it and kudos and comments are always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> I can't honestly be the only one who imagines Clint with wings. The idea bothered me until I started to write this. I'm working towards this being a full, beginning to end fic! Please let me know if you liked it! Chapter 2 is already finished ;)


End file.
